What's gotten into me?
by Munkwunk
Summary: A short story about Setzer after the end of the world and before he meets up with the Party again. PG-13 for mild language.


**THUD** The dark man hit the floor.

_Don't you ever say that again if you value your life!_ shouted the typically easy-going gambler. He was pissed, and the dark man knew it.

Keeping his wits about him as best he could, the dark man chose to say nothing. Instead, he simply looked away, feigning shame. Now was not the time to talk back to gambler. If you value your life, was all that ran through the man's mind. He did. So he kept quiet. 

Setzer uncleanched his fist, relaxed a little. Locks of his long, silver hair fell down across his scarred face, folds of his coat relaxed as he did, slumped back onto his shoulders. It wasn't until that moment he noticed the bar was unbearably quiet. No idle chatter, no clank of mugs, nothing. All eyes were quietly staring at him and the dark man; the world revolved around them. 

_Go back to your meals. There's nothing more to be seen,_ uttered Setzer, quietly. And with that he turned, tramped off towards the door, and opened it. Turning back towards the room his glance fell upon the dark man. With the intensity of a bitter scream, yet the silence of years of torment wearing on a man's soul, he added once more for emphasis, _Never again,_ and left the bar, giving it the opportunity to regain its composure and the usual hustle and bustle. 

* * *

_What got into me today?_

Thoughts ran through his head like a locomotive -- a Phantom Trian of thoughts -- none of which had any apparent answer. 

Nothing gets to the gambler. Nothing! Why was this any different? 

Ever since the world "ended" four months ago, he just wasn't the same. Rumors of a stone that could revive lost loved ones emerged after Vector was raided and clues to its existence were found in the Emperor's chambers. Was that why he started the war?, thought Setzer. Did he want to use Esper magic to revive someone? Did he succeed? Is the stone still out there? 

He ran into Locke in the tavern in Kohlingen. Locke was searching for it, too. Rachel was all he could talk about. _I need that stone to revive Rachel! It will be mine, Setzer! Fuck Daryl! She's of no importance! She's dead! D-e-a-d! Rachel is still alive! She has a chance!_

That's when Setzer's fist slammed into the thief's _('Treasure Hunter' my ass!)_ chest and sent him promptly to the floor. Never before had he been so outraged, so enthralled by his madness. And never again will he say such a thing. To be sure of that! 

For months Setzer searched for the Phoenix magicite. No further clues seem to have turned up, however, and without his wings his travel speed was severely impaired. He slowly, slowly, sank into a deep depression -- which was entirely unlike the man he once was -- and settled back into the bar in Kohlingen, hoping to drown his sorrows in a cup. 

Now, every time even a hint of the Phoenix turned up in conversation around the bar, Setzer would perk up ever-so-slightly... 

  
  
...only to fall back down into an even deeper pit of despair as he learned nothing new. Eventually the gambler grew angry at the constant dead ends, and took his aggressions out on the patrons of the tavern. One unlucky man was there when Setzer fully snapped. He barely lived to tell the tail. 

_To hell with your stories of the Phoenix! To hell with all of you!_ fumed Setzer as he slammed his fist into the stomach of one man, causing him to double over in pain. Immediately following up with a knee to the man's jaw, Setzer sent him to the floor. 

"ENOUGH!" shouted the barkeep. "Get the hell out of my tavern this instant you bloody old drunk!" 

Like a bull seeing red, Setzer went into a berserker rage. Pulling a deck of special cards from his coat, he deftly threw them at any who tried to hault his fury. All knew that Setzer was deadly with those cards. Needless to say, not many stuck around to learn any extra-curricular lessons. 

After clearing out the entire bar he slumped back into his chair, staring at the now-empty mug whose contents were spilled across the table and chairs. 

Sobbing dry tears softly, he could think nothing other than what has gotten into me?, before passing out on the table, his hair soaking in the spilt ale. 


End file.
